Destiny
by Andian
Summary: Nobody ever asked if he wanted to be a hero. And how it was right now Steve would have refused. But he can't anymore.
1. Destiny

He had always wanted to make his father proud.

Everything in his life was planned, laid out, meant to lead to this.

A pat on his shoulder, a warm smile, a _well done son._

And now this. This was bad. This was illegal.  
>He sneaked through the dark living room, hoping nobody would hear him on the stairs.<p>

Usually he took the window. Not tonight though.  
>His left leg was hurting, breathing was painful and he hoped he could get the blood stains out of his clothes.<p>

Should probably get a new costume he thought dully.  
>A door opened. He froze.<br>''Stan? What are you doing?'' His father was looking sleepy at him.  
>''Nothing Dad. Just going to the bathroom. It's urgent.'' He hoped he couldn't see him that good in the dark floor. He hoped he wouldn't noticed his clothes. Wouldn't noticed that he had suppressed a painful hiss.<br>Hoped that he wouldn't notice the blood-stained bat.

''Hmm still controlled by your own urges. Weak.'' his father turned around, to his relief without looking closer at him.

He hold his breath until he heard the door of his parent's bedroom close.  
>Then he sighed and quickly made his way back to his room.<br>He definitely had to go through the window the next time. He couldn't risk something like that again.

In his room he undressed and pressed the dirty clothes into a bag. Hopefully he could somehow wash them tomorrow.  
>Tomorrow... his stomach flipped. A glance at his clock and he groaned. Three o'clock. Later then he intended.<br>It was starting to become a routine. He briefly stopped in front of the mirror.  
>Breathing had already become at least less agonizing. Still more painful than anything he ever felt before, and through the last month his tolerance of pain had constantly increased, but tolerable.<p>

He sat on the bed and tried not to think about the fact that he had probably broken a rip this night.  
>Probably his leg too.<p>

And now the pain had already become a dull throbbing.  
>''What am I becoming?'' he mumbled and felt flat on his bed.<p>

For once the voice in his head didn't answered.

Sighing he forced himself up again. Had to hide the bat. Couldn't let them see the bat.  
>The usual spark of <em>hot<em>, _power, fear _and once again he decided against cleaning it from the blood.

He couldn't stand the feeling for very long. Not when he wasn't fighting.  
><em>Destiny.<em>

The voice growled. He ignored it. Tossing the bat into the closet he turned back to his bed. On his way he passed his desk.  
>A open math book lied on it. He stared at it confused, his mind trying to bring the image of blood, screams and pain together with those of numbers, calculators and school.<p>

School. Shit. The math test tomorrow.

''We need to talk Steve.'' His mother was holding a paper. He stared at it and hoped that it wasn't what he thought it was.

''Your teacher sent a note. She said you felt asleep during classes. Again.'' his mother was frowning.

Steve shrugged and tried to smile.

''It's not that bad Mom. I mean it was just geography. Nothing important.''  
>''School's always important Steve.'' He wouldn't be able to calm her down. Not today. ''Until you stop falling asleep during classed you will meet your friends only on weekends, understood?''<br>He stared at her and she seemed to misinterpret his blank look as shock.  
>''Oh honey don't worry. It's just because your grade haven't been that good in the last time and I'm just a bit worried.'' Her expression softened, an almost sickening look of fondness ''It won't be for long.''<br>He managed a nod and left the room before his mother could say anything more.

Inside he throw his bag into a corner and himself on his bed.

He didn't mind. It wasn't like he had seen much of is friends in the last month. Well the last thirty days to be exactly.

He told them he had school work. That it was a bit stressful at home at the moment.

And that was all. Seeing them at school, acting normal, trying to find excuses for missing another round of their gaming sessions.

There patience would wore out eventually. He know that. They would stop asking, would stop calling and then one day he wouldn't be their friend Steve he would be that one guy.

He sighed. The worst part that he couldn't really bring himself to care. Not now.

_Time._

Till my parents are asleep, he mumbled.

_Calling._

I know. He stood up and walked to the window. He could see the outlines of the city from here. Almost close enough to touch it. Close enough to her its call.

_Destiny._

The glass was cold against his forehead. He closed his eyes allowing the weariness to slip back into his body.

I know, he mumbled. I know.

Bones broke and he managed to dodge the blow from the man behind him.  
>''Who the hell are you?'' He didn't answered. He never did. A quick kick and the man was one his knee. The bat finished the job.<p>

He pulled the mask up to breathe freely for the first time of the evening. Around him were three unconscious men and lock pick they used to break the door of the jeweler.

Not bad for one evening. He was getting better.

The first time he went out he couldn't move for two days. Told his parents he felt down the stair.

Explained the bruises. Not the cut of the knife. Thankfully they didn't saw it.

He shuddered whenever he thought about what would have happened without the unnatural fast healing his body now possessed.

Don't think, he told himself. Thinking wasn't smart. Thinking wasn't needed.

He tied the men together, making a mental note that he needed to buy new ropes. Handcuffs were too expensive. At least more expensive than ropes.

He desperately tried to block out the images of the jewelry in one of the black bags.

Quickly pulled the mask down and started searching for a phone boot.

''Corner Maple Street. The jeweler.'' The first few times he felt like Batman. He still did. He didn't do the voice anymore, though.  
>And he hung up before they started asking questions.<p>

''One day the police will get him and then he will be put into jail for the rest of his miserable life.''  
>His father throw the newspaper angrily on the kitchen table.<br>He didn't looked up. He didn't wanted to see it.  
>''We have a police in this country! We don't need people dressing up going out doing their job. If everybody would do that they would be out of job.''<br>He concentrated on his soup.

''People today.'' He said nothing. He hadn't said anything during the whole dinner.

His mother had thrown him worried glances but thankfully she was distracted by Roger's idea of opening a kindergarten.

His father had made them stop discussing.  
>''If he wants to play hero, let him.'' his mother said. Hayley rolled her eyes. ''Mom arbitrary law is illegal.'' She shrugged. ''They'll get him eventually. The police or the criminals.'' ''Very nice can we now get back to the important things in life. Namely me.'' Roger interrupted.<br>He himself stared into the soup and suddenly had to suppress the urge to start crying.  
>The look in his father's eye had been one of pure contempt.<p>

I quit.

_Can't._

Yes. Yes I can. I'm going to my friends now.

''Good to have you back.'' It came sometimes after the third round, accompanied with a friendly pat on his shoulder.  
>He forced himself to laugh.<br>''Yeah. Missed you too guys.'' ''Now you're getting sappy.'' They laughed and he tried to concentrate on the game.

_Go._

Tried to ignore the voice.

_Go._

Sweat drops formed on his forehead.  
>''Everything's okay Steve?'' Snot asked worried.<br>_Go. NOW._

He stood up so quickly the chair felt over. ''I-I'm sorry guys but I... I have to go.'' he pressed out.

''You're okay? You look sick.''

His vision was spinning. He forced a smile.  
>''No, it's okay it's just my... my mom don't want me to stay out so long.''<br>''It's only eight o'clock Steve.''

He felt like vomiting. ''Yeah already to late you... you know how it is.'' A flash of red and he wanted his bat, he wanted to smash, he wanted to punish, he wanted to _save. _

''Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow.''  
>He stumbled out of the room, without saying goodbye.<br>The fresh air didn't made it better.

_Go._

He felt on his knee and spitted out bitter bile.

Yes, he whispered.

The next day he couldn't stretch his arm. On Monday his friend asked if he felt better.  
>He smiled and nodded.<p>

They didn't asked about their next gaming session. He didn't brought it up.

Later that day after another dinner with his father complaining about the masked criminal fighting other criminals he lied on his bed and stared at the ceiling.  
>One hour sleep, he thought dimly.<p>

Just one hour of sleep, then my history homework and then the streets.

He dreamed.

It was a sunny day. He was on his way to school. There hadn't been an accident. There hadn't been any kind of radioactive spiders.

There had suddenly been the voice. On the end of Oak street.

_Destiny._

And a feeling like falling, being tossed into an abyss and abyss that was pain, hate, fear, violence and it was everything, everything that existed, everything that would ever exist and there was nothing he could do, nothing to help, nothing to change how it was, how it felt.

_Save_.

And he had nodded, kneeling on the dirty ground, and had sworn that he would, that he would help those people, that he would help them, that he would save everybody.

He woke with a start and the taste of blood on his tongue.

Two more this night. He actually saved a person this time. A young woman. She had screamed when he suddenly had jumped out of the trash can where the voice had told him _hide_ and started attacking the man, who had his hand in her blouse while the other had hold her hands behind her back.

_There._

He froze and looked up.

A man was standing at the end of the alley. He was watching him. Slowly he stood up, thankful that he hadn't pulled his mask off.

''Go.'' he managed a decent growl.

The man didn't move. His hands tightened around the bat.  
>''Go. Now.'' Instead the man came closer. Nervously he noticed that his hood was pulled so close over his head that he couldn't see his face.<p>

The man stopped a few steps away from him.

''Steve Smith.'' his voice was a low whisper, the words a statement.

_He._

''Who are you?''

The man raised his head. He smiled. A cold shudder ran down Steve's spin.

''Somebody who knows things.''  
>He came closer. Steve wanted to flinch away, wanted to run, but he couldn't move a muscle.<p>

He still couldn't see the eyes of the man.

The man reached out, a movement so slow Steve should have been able to avoid, but he didn't even tried.

Fingers touched his forehead. They stayed there just for moment and then disappeared just as quickly.

''We'll meet again.'' The hand touched the fresh blood on his bat.  
>''And this won't save you then.''<br>He turned around and walked away.  
>Steve started shaking the moment he left the alley. He felt on his knee, coughing desperately trying to force air into his lungs. His hands lost the grip on around the bat. It felt on the floor with a loud clack.<p>

'Who-who was that?'' he gasped.

_Your destiny._


	2. Counterpart

He was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. There was the rest of his history homework. There was the fact that it was four o'clock in the morning.

There were the memory of fingers on his forehead and a softly-spoken threat.

''How did he do it?' he mumbled. One advantage of the voice was that he hadn't to clarify what he meant.  
>He shuddered at the memory of being held against his will.<p>

_Power._

''He can do that to everyone?''  
><em>No.<em>

''Great.'' He sighed and closed his eyes. For a moment there was nothing. Then.

_Will go for what you want._

His eyes snapped open at this.  
>''What?''<br>_Will destroy it. Will destroy you._

An confusing swirl of thoughts, feelings, images. His family, friends, everybody he cared about.  
>Smiling while lying on the floor in a puddle of blood.<p>

His hands bored into his palm.  
>''Why?'' he hissed.<p>

_Counterpart._

''What?''

_Your counterpart. Your destiny._

My problem, he thought grimly. He didn't slept that night.

''Dad could you show me a few moves?'' His father eyed him suspiciously. ''Why?'' He shrugged. ''Just thought it might be useful.'' Someone wants to kill you. ''You know wanting to defend myself.'' The bat won't be enough to stop him. ''I want to be a bit stronger.'' I have to be stronger.  
>The frown disappeared and his father smiled at him. ''It's always good when a father sees that his son is trying to follow in his footsteps.'' He gave him a pat on the shoulder and something inside of him twisted painfully.<p>

''Let's start.''

Two hours later and he tried to drawn out the small voice that whispered that if he didn't finished his history homework today he would be in trouble.  
>He didn't cared. ''Not bad Steve.'' Hitting, kicking, learning to fall.<p>

''Really not bad.'' Remembering where the enemy was, watching his movements, predicting his next.

''Actually that's pretty good.'' His father's expression was a mix between surprise and pride.  
>Steve smiled and the first time in the last month he didn't had to force it.<p>

''Look the CIA has this trainee program. Kinda stressful but you're Smith I think you'll manage it.''  
>He started into the glass and didn't answered. His father went on.<br>''The selection is hard, last year we had two broken chins and three bloody noses.'' His father smiled faintly at the memory. ''But you're good Steve. I think you could make it.''  
>His father raised his glass while opening his mouth to continue speaking.<br>''I... I don't think I want to.'' Steve interrupted him quietly. The movement of the glass stopped. His father looked at him.  
>''Oh.'' he said.<p>

The worst wasn't the hurt in his eyes. It was the fact that he for a short moment he had looked surprised.  
>As if he hadn't expected him to disappoint him.<p>

Breaking bones this night. Being to angry to care. He stopped when he heard someone clapping.  
>''Not bad.''<br>He turned around, trying to find the source of the voice.

''Not good enough though.'' And then a blustering pain on his back head and he felt down.  
>''Actually pretty bad.'' A soft laugh and he couldn't hear where it was coming from and then silence. His head was aching, black spots dance in front of his eyes and he felt like vomiting.<p>

Shaking he touched the back of his head.

It felt wet.

He managed to stumble away, leaving a trail of blood in the process.

He felt down while trying to climb into his room again. His hands were shaking, too weak to hold on, his head was a drumming beat of pain and his clothes were soaked with his blood.

He managed to make it into his room after the fourth try, falling on his knees inside the room.  
>Through the haze of the pain one thought managed to make it through.<br>Bat. Bat and clothes.

He crashed into his desk on the way to the closet. The lamp felt down with a loud crash.  
>He stopped, forcing himself to breathe a wave of sickness flooding through his body in the process.<p>

He could hear a noise in the floor.  
>Clothes. Clothes and bat. He pulled the upper part of his costume over his head, felt down in the process, crashed against the chair.<p>

Steps in the floor. He struggled his trousers off while lying on the floor. Disorientated he looked around, searching for the bat.

''Steve everything okay?'' His mother sounded worry.  
>Blindly he started groping for the bat.<br>Found it. The door opened. He wrapped it in his costume and tossed it under his bed the moment his mother turned on the lights.  
>''Oh my god Steve what happened?'' She ran to him and he prayed that she wouldn't look to her right and see the bat under the bed.<br>''Felt.'' he pressed out. ''Felt. Knocked my... knocked my head on the... the desk.''

''Oh god. Stan!'' Vaguely he could he his father coming into the room. ''Call an ambulance. Oh god look at the blood, look at all the blood.''  
>And everything went black.<p> 


	3. Trainee

Blackness danced forming patterns of swirling darkness only briefly interrupted by shrill flashes of white and agonizing shots of red.

When he woke up everything was white.

_Back. Good._

The voice was barley audible. Something biped next to him and he wished he could just close his eyes and go back to sleeping, back to the blackness but he forced himself to move his head towards the noise.

The monitor showed regular lines and he stared at it uncomprehending.

_Lost lot of blood. Nearly died._

A heart rate monitor.

How?

_Healing didn't work. Counterpart. Obliteration._

Very slowly he lifted his hand to the bandages wrapped around his head.

A flash of a smile, pain and nausea.

He twisted around, opened his mouth, started chocking, tasted bitter bile.

''Hey, hey calm down!'' Hands on his back, holding him up, pressing him back into the bed.  
>He started struggling.<p>

''He got a panic attack! I need tranquillizers!''  
>Someone else was suddenly there, someone pressing something, silver, cold, <em>injection<em>, against his neck and his struggle grow wilder, desperate.

Breaking the grip around his arm, he stroke out, hitting something, hearing something snapping.

Wet and warm dripping over his hand and with grim satisfaction he realized it was blood.

Then the cold against his neck pierced his skin and darkness reached again for him.

''But why did they...'' ''The doctor said it's better that way.'' ''Yeah can't have him re-acting the in-creditworthy Hulk or something like that.''

Hayley, Mom, Roger. In this order.

He kept his eyes closed and waited. Listened until he could be sure that it was save to open them.

''How long will he have to stay here?'' ''Probably another week.''

One week? He flinched when he realized that it meant one week trapped in the bed.

''I think he is waking up.''

No use to keep on pretending.  
>Slowly he opened his eyes. ''Hey Mom.'' he mumbled. His voice was hoarse.<p>

''Oh Steve thanks God you're okay!'' The relieved smile of his mother was so happy it hurt.

He looked away, at his sister and Roger. ''Good to see back with the living.'' Hayley was smiling, too.  
>Searching for something that would justify not looking at his family, he reached for his glasses.<br>The restraints stopped him.

He tensed.  
>''What's that?'' His voice was sharp. He saw his mother flinching slightly. ''Oh nothing honey, they just thought I would be … better that way.'' The pause told something different.<p>

''Take them off.'' A part of him know that he was unreasonable. A bigger part tried to determinate if he could break somebody's chin only using his feet.  
>''Honey we can't I mean...'' ''Take them off!'' He probably could. Wouldn't be enough, though. He needed his hands.<p>

''I told you to take them off!'' He needed his goddamn hands. ''I'll call the doctor.'' His mother slipped out of the room and the last thing he saw was the fear on his face.

''Where's Dad?'' Every few second he would clench his fist.

The doctor had refused to take the restraints off at first.  
>Cold anger, sharp words and a reverberant<p>

''_NOW!''_

and now his family was looking at him with a mix of worry and fear.

''He's picking up his trainee. He'll visit you later.''  
>A sinking feeling in his stomach.<p>

''Oh. Good.'' Leaning back in his pillow.

''I'm tired.'' ''We'll go then.'' A short nod. No goodbye.

He stared at the ceiling until he felt asleep.  
>He dreamed of a cold smile and his father walking away from him.<p>

When he woke up the man from his dreams smiled down at him.  
>He opened his mouth to scream.<p>

''He's awake Mr. Smith.'' The man stepped back. He closed his mouth.  
>''Ah good. Steve that's Karl. Karl that's Steve. My son.'''<br>Another smile and he wanted to strangle him.  
>''Nice to meet you Steve.''<p> 


	4. Conversation

Somebody had called his father on his mobile phone.

He had apologized, walked out and he hated him for the flare of relief he saw in his eyes.

Left him alone with Him. A ball of anger and hate and he clenched his fists so hurt it started hurting.

''What do you want?'' he growled. Karl raised an eyebrow. ''Visiting the sick son of my supervisor. I'm a nice guy, aren't I Steve?''

He came closer to the bed.

Steve tensed and slowly leaned back, bracing himself.

A soft chuckle.

''You wouldn't you attack me in front of your dad Steve, would you?'' Another chuckle and he felt to urge to smash the others head against a wall.

''If you hurt my father I'll...'' ''Why should I hurt him?'' And suddenly he was standing next to him and the anger was back, the hate, the fear.

_you fear. you fear me. _

Hard to move. Harder to breathe. The world was blurring and pain.

He'd have screamed if he could have moved his mouth, could have move anything.

Fingers on his cheek stroking slowly.

''You're more interesting than your father Steve.'' A burning rush of nausea. ''I want to have a little fun with you. See how far I can go before you break. You know,''

A hand closing around his throat and a cutting smile.

''Everybody breaks in the end. Everybody slips.'' Black spots and he was falling now and it was too late, too late to save his father, his family, himself.

Only the voice left.

''You'll try.'' Trying to struggle. ''I'll enjoy watching watching you fail.'' Darkness making it impossible. ''And you will fail. Cause we're not that different.''

And the hand disappears and he drew air in greedily. Karl stepped back and the door opened.

''We got to go.'' His father looked at him and frowned. ''You look so pale Steve. Everything's okay?'' Not, he wanted to scream. No I'm not okay, nothing is okay, please stay Dad and make the bad things go away, make it all good again, please Dad, please, please, please.

Karl grinned.

And Steve bit his tongue and nodded. ''You're sure?'' The concerned look didn't changed and he bit harder and nodded again. ''Oh. Okay.'' Something in his father's eye he couldn't define and he looked away cause he didn't wanted to know. Not now. Biting so hard on his tongue he tasted blood.

''We'll go then. Bye Steve.'' Another nod, no look at his father and he only turned around when he heard the chuckle. ''Nice to met you Steve. We'll see each other each again.''

A smile.

''I'm sure about that.'' The door closed and he felt back exhausted. A trembling hand reaching for his throat and he swallowed.

Splitters of the conversation, the look in his father's eyes, His smile and he reached to wipe the tears away from his eyes. To his surprise they were dry.

A fragment of something Karl said. Words endless repeating themselves. Not that different. We're not that different. Memories of a harsh order and the blurred eyes of the doctor removing the restraints.

''The thing he does... can I do them too?''

And a short moment of hesitation.

Yes.

''Teach me.''


End file.
